


By your heartstrings I am hanging from a dream

by TotemundTabu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: Alternate Songs 2018Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell and Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark - Canon AU: Homosexuality Accepted Canon AU - Raised Elsewhere AU – Soulmate AU  - Arranged Marriage AU – soulmate markings. Still canon-related misogyny and partially-still-remaining homophobia





	By your heartstrings I am hanging from a dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jougetsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/gifts).



Hello, my recipient :D ! Since I saw we matched for the last ship in your list, I decided that the best thing I could do was putting TWO of your ships u__u so you're not left with the thing you wanted less. In order to make two ships though, I decided to play a bit with your requests and sum some of them up ;) Hopefully you like the idea! Since I am not fully satisfied (I wanted to make it Explicit but realized canon ages would make it “hmmm”), I'll probably bother you soon with another present ;)

 

* * *

 

WARNINGS/CONTENTS USED:

Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell and Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark

Canon AU: Homosexuality Accepted Canon AU - Raised Elsewhere AU – Soulmate AU - Arranged Marriage AU – soulmate markings. Still canon-related misogyny and partially-still-remaining homophobia.

 

* * *

 

**By your heartstrings I am hanging from a dream**

 

* * *

 

_Tip toeing along a strand of your hair suspended between_

_these thoughts and actions miles above reality._

_Come, look at the scars, smother a heart, opening up …_

 

* * *

 

 

“I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”

This offer did surprise Ned, “Sansa is only eleven.”

At that, Robert seemed to scoff: eleven was old enough for a betrothal!

But Ned's look was so dull, so dark, that Robert didn't want to pry. He hadn't seen his friend in years and as much as he loved to have his way, he wanted his friend to be actually joyful about that project of his.

Then, it hit him.

“What of your first born?”

“Robb? - Ned frowns – _With Joffrey_?”

The Seven Kingdoms accepted the idea of two men marrying, of course, but for the king it was never an option. It was for lords, small or big, but a king... that was another matter. It was too risky. 

Robert had always been bold but that seemed like too much.

“Not Joffrey! - Robert scoffed – My Joffrey is not really interested in, umh, how do the youths call them? Entertaining homosexual affairs. He is my son, after all. He likes a good pair of jugs to stuff his face in between.”

Ned smiles slightly: Robert had never been a delicate man, but he was good-hearted.

“Renly, my brother. - the king continued – He is... fond of men. Not that I mind, I get it, it's what fits him, but gods know it's not as common as he may wish it to be, and Robb …”

Ned nods, “He is, but...”

“Then let them! - Robert smiled – He won't find a better match! Renly is quite handsome, all like me, if I can say so myself. - he gave a thunderous laugh – They'll be happy. You know how the North is, it's a bit... backwards, with this. I'm sure he'll be happier in the Stormlands and with such a high match.”

Ned had to weigh that one.

When Robb had confessed his interest in men to him and Catelyn, she had been distraught, downright heartbroken, not because she loved Robb any less, but due to the perspective.

Marriage being allowed didn't mean that Robb's … condition didn't come with stigma and laughs.

And for how deeply they would have wanted to still let him be the future lord of Winterfell, they knew very well the North would probably not have accepted it – and gods forbid he would have probably to match him with a Bolton to avoid them using it as an excuse to revolt! A child of his! To the Boltons! - and Robb would be condemned to a wedding with a woman to save their appearance.

And he didn't want his son to live a lie.

He had to do that and he wouldn't ever wish it on a child of his.

“Let Bran be Lord of Winterfell. - Robert said, smiling, tempting as only an offer of serenity can be – Marry your Robb to my Renly, and then, when the time comes, if you will still be satisfied with this match, we will marry Sansa and Joff, what do you say?”

Ned’s look lingered in the dark and wet void a long time before he nodded slowly, breathing in, sucking his lips.

He hoped, this time, to make the right choice.

For his Robb.

“So be it, my king.”

“My brother.”, Robert corrected him, grinning.

 

*

 

Robb couldn't stay put.

One thing was confessing his homosexuality to his parents, another was them accepting it and another completely wild matter was the idea of his father, his traditional, duty-oriented father, making him a match with a man. 

He was no Sansa, he didn't spend his life waiting for a love story, but, then again, he also never thought he could get one.

He remembered often the twisting sour thorns that would bloom in his stomach, noticing that in songs knights all had a lady, never a lord. He had spent nights clutching his bed furs, wondering if that would end up making Jon Lord of Winterfell, if he would have disappointed his mother, if he had to remain silent for the good of house Stark.

Even innocent little fantasies, like the ones about stable boys or one of the hunters of the village would soon taste like salt in his mouth, and leave him gasping for water and forgiveness. 

Wishing had been a curse, a wound.

And the days he's wake up to find his small clothes stained and damp, those were the worst ones: the guilt would slip and creep and sizzle in his bones and stomach, it would make him sick.

He knew he never dreamed of a girl. 

He knew he never would have. He tried.

He tried to imagine rubbing between soft, pillow-y breasts, or caressing a woman’s sweet folds, but nothing stirred him and he couldn't help but know that meant either disappointing his family or living forever in sadness.

It hadn't been exactly easy and light-weighted leaving Winterfell to Bran, who was still so young, and Rickon just a babe, depending on him and looking up to him, but the grace his parents had allowed him was too much for him to complain; plus, in a way, he felt relieved. He had rarely been in command, but enough to notice that while it came good and natural to him, and that he disliked obeying and depending way more, the responsibility of thousands of lives and the idea than any of his actions could lead to disaster weren't exactly enthusiasm-bringing.

He would stiffen and feel his heart accelerate just at the thought.

It would have been too much.

Now, now he was never going to be alone.

He would have always been able to consult his husband if in doubt, they would have reigned together, over a much smaller region, and as equals, as law claimed – “..for none is a woman, none shall be treated as such”.

Robb smiled, stuck his head out of the carriage, looking at the changing scenery: the soft mantle of the snow had left its place to the melted azure rivers and the greenest wide fields, rye would soon dominate the landscape, and then trees, shorter and thinner than the ones he was used to, heavy with fruit.

King Robert once stopped all the carriages and horses, ordering some soldiers to grab peaches and plums, which they ate in the middle of the day to break the yoke of the smouldering southern summer.

Robb, who had spent his childhood seeing his mother taken by chills and shivers and quick colds, had still not expected such a difference. Not even the hottest days of summer in the North could arrive at those levels and his skin felt like it was burning around his bones.

Heat made him all more impatient, thunder running through his nerves, making him champ at the bit like a boisterous, restless colt. He pawed the ground of his mind, running through fantasies as if they were brick roads.

For the first time in his life, he could hope to be fully happy.

Not just with leftovers and crumbles, forced to pick between being a good son and being loveful.

And then, beyond all of that, silent as the night, a wish would drum in his chest: that Renly's fingertips could match the one on his arm.

If his soulmate mark were to burn as Renly first touched him, then, for sure, Robb couldn't have asked for anything more.

Finally, he could hope without disappointing his family.

When they arrived to the Stormlands, Robb's face was so lit up, ignited with a foolish, youthful joy, that King Robert couldn't avoid mocking him lovingly, “Look at him, Ned! The young buck is already smitten before meeting my brother”, but then soon after he added with a little lopsided smile and a heavy bitter sigh, “He's so young”.

Ned looked over to him, inquisitive. But his silent question received no reply.

Robb sat back in the carriage, slightly offended. He was still green but he was not really a boy, he was a man by then. Maybe his joy, so rooted in how impossibly well things seemed to have turned out, may have seemed childish or maiden-like to someone who never had to feel like they couldn't be loved. Regardless of it all, someone who had married the most beautiful woman in the West probably had no idea what marital unhappiness felt like; Robb was sure of that much.

His lord father, rather, seemed to have fallen speechless and wary as the day passed, as if he regretted the deal already.

_Maybe_ , Robb thought, a feverish fear spiking up in him,  _Maybe he'll tell me to return to Winterfell, that he will marry me to a Manderly girl and that's it. The North will never accept an invert as their Lord Warden._

He kept squeezing his hands, cracking his knuckles and junctures nervously in the last days, until, while crossing the Kingswood, his lord father spoke to the King, with a deep sigh, “He is there too. Is it safe?”

Robert frowned, confused.

“Edric? Edric is an amazing boy. - he shrugged, laughing – Why would he ever be a problem?”

“Not him. - Ned corrected, impatiently fearful – The Greyjoy lordling.”

Robb blinked and then frowned. 

He knew his father and the king defeated the rebellious Greyjoys when he was still a babe and that Robert had taken their last male heir as a ward – his father insisted ward, at least, but to Robb that greatly sounded like an euphemism for a well-treated prisoner – and had, perhaps thinking the storms would remind him of home or perhaps just to not have a Greyjoy too close to himself, sent him to stay with his brother Renly in Storm's end.

What could a defeated pirate lord mean to him? Robb was very skilled with the sword, his father knew that well. If he thought he would have been hurt by someone, he sure was very wrong.

“Father, I am a man grown, no maiden nor child. - he imposed himself, his voice sounded way lower and his demeanour way more adult than Ned could have imagined and that sank into him, though slowly and with resistance – I am safe.”

King Robert laughed at that, slamming his hand on his leg and looked at Ned, all proud, “I really am his namesake, Ned! The boy knows how to impose himself and dominate, I like that.”

Eddard Stark lowered his head, defeated by both of them, and just let out an unconvinced mumble.

Trusting a Greyjoy was foolish.

But not openly trusting your son, well, that could lead to disaster.

Robb seemed proud of the result of his argumentation and looked outside the carriage window, glancing at bunnies and deer running through the forest, the almost alienating bright green bathing in the hot sunlight, and then heard a couple of laughs of hunters, guessing they had probably caught magnificent prey.

 

*

 

Storm's end was bigger and sturdier than Robb had imagined.

The seat had only one tower, but it was thick, with a crowned drum, massive and threatening. From far away it almost looked like a big, disproportioned, spiked fist, standing as if about to punch the sky or mock it, which Robb found oddly fitting the Baratheons – he hoped less his husband; the walls were high and wide and broad, which made Robb unsure if the architect had feared more the enemy or the climate of the place itself, smooth and curving, probably to defeat the wrathful winds from the seaward.

Between the drop below the wall into the sea and the high white cliffs, the castle looked protected and well thought, but the proportions made it clumsily rigid and stiff.

For some reason, Robb found himself thinking of Pyke's islands and the agile, slender structures he had read of in books or heard of from Luwin.

He wondered how colossal and slow Storm's end must had seemed to the Greyjoy heir.

He shook away the thought quickly, finding himself almost embarrassed by how he belittled so quickly his future's seat.

The party stopped in time to allow the King, his lord father and Robb to exit the coach and take their places upon some rested horses at the start of the cortège.

The King's black palfrey moved its neck nervously at the idea of having again to support the not light weight. He let out a pained neigh, before submitting obediently to the king's wrathful look.

Robb sucked his lips to contain a laugh, which his lord father noticed. He also hinted a shy smile, allowing himself that softness, and gave a silent chuckle before mounting on his own stallion.

A knight came close to Robb and showed him a muscly, tall destrier – all dressed up in a ceremonial harness and a gold-sewn finery tack, that made the horse look more like a lord than him. Robb passed his hand through the long, black mane and the dark chestnut neck. He mounted it, all of a sudden feeling all the nervousness dance like an eel in his abdomen.

Despite a forgiving, merciful, fresh, brackish wind raising from the Shipbreaker Bay, the castle was perfused and flooded by a – to Robb – un-experimented summer warmth. It was humid and the mugginess would stick to his flesh and make his freckled, pale skin red.

“They have a weirwood heart tree in their godswood. - his father whispered, with a hesitantly caring murmur – If you will miss us.”

While they waited on their horses for the last gate to open, their road suddenly got cut by a furiously big, black percheron stallion, with a wide mane, fur shining jet black and silky, feathered feet. It looked like the night itself had melted like metal and forged that horse. 

On the steed sat a tall, dark, lean man. Hair long and jet black too, just like his horse, elegant to a fault, and with a wide, cocky smirk.

He pulled the reins forcefully and forced the stallion to calm, “Smiler, good boy. - he then raised his head and gave a deep curtsy to the king – Lord Renly was hunting in the forest, your Majesty, he caught a magnificent deer for supper and will be back soon.”

“And he has sent you beforehand to warn us or to show off?”, Robert inquired.

The man was still smirking but he sucked his lips in, as to hide his amusement.

His eyes locked with Robb's.

And Robb felt a liquid warmth storm through him.

“My apologies, your Majesty. - the man said, unconvinced, but well-mannered – I've orders to invite all of you to wait for Lord Renly inside.”

Robb stiffened, remembering just then.

_Right, Lord Renly._

He felt his cheeks warm up, as if something inside him had decided to stir flames across his nerves.

They advanced, the king in front of everyone, while the tall man slowed his horse down enough to allow Lord Stark to go beyond him, and then moved closer to Robb, swift and smooth.

Robb stiffened slightly in his saddle, but couldn't keep his eyes off him. And the man seemed to know.

_Well, there is not much to guess. He surely had received the raven of the king announcing our marriage and I'm the only man on such a ridiculously dressed up horse and in the right age._

_He probably finds it weird. Maybe he mocks lord Renly and will mock me too._

Not that it mattered to him. He didn't care for a random man’s opinion, but he was not good at swallowing humiliation and he felt his knuckles and fist clench.

“You must be Robb. - the man said and Robb noticed against his will that up close he was even more handsome and his voice was deep and the colour of the dark sea – Lord Renly will be happy to see you.”

Robb's eyes widened in surprise and he couldn't contain a grin.

The handsome man blinked and looked at him in surprise.

“Is he as happy as I am? - Robb asked, impetuous and precipitous, his eyes shining the deepest blue – I know it sounds silly, forgive me.”

The man shook his head, still taken aback, but then let out a smug expression, “I'm sure you'll get along, Lord Renly has a certain charisma.”

_You speak? With that smile so sharp it cuts my thoughts to pieces?_

Robb smiled, “I heard he's friendly and good-natured, those things count more to me.”

The man raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, “I suppose we could say he's all of those things.”

“You don't seem to agree, sir …”

“Lord. - he corrected him with a smirk – Greyjoy, Theon.”

Robb felt his jaw almost slide out as he realized who the Lord was, and forced himself to avoid any further impudent thoughts, “Well, Lord Greyjoy, don't you agree?”

“He is many things, depending on who he is with, my lordling.”

With a quick hit on the horse and a strong shout, Theon Greyjoy rushed to the front with the king, leaving Robb behind to wonder. And to try to pacify a restless sensation.

 

*

 

Robb took a bath as soon as he was left alone, and discovered the pools in the south to be fresh, with running cold water, and a different smell. He sat in them with a heavy nostalgic feeling calling back to Winterfell's hot springs with their scalding water and closed stone rims.

He sucked his lips, feeling his eyes pool up with tears he couldn't shed.

He was supposed to be happy. And he was.

But the idea of rarely ever seeing Winterfell again, and having to travel so long for it... he thought about his mother, having to make a home in the north, leaving the south. Was he the other side of the coin? Was he going to live there? So far away from home? 

When would have Storm's end become home? When would it have felt as such?

He should have asked her before leaving, but his stupid green heart had been all so taken by the joy that he forgot.

_And Renly didn't even come to greet me_ , he mused.

Maybe he was just offended. Maybe that was the problem.

He tried hard to think it was going to feel better as soon as he would meet him.

But his own voice sounded unconvinced and weak in his head, and bitter and stale. Like leftover salt from the sea water.

He sighed, leaning against the wall of the pool, closing his eyes. The fresh water did bring some relief from the humid heat, but not enough, and Robb soon took his breath and lowered himself underwater, washing his hair. He hoped submerging his head would send away not only the dust and sweat but also the thoughts that infested him and the silly doubts  _and the trace of that smile_ .

“Don't stay under too long. - a soft voice commented – It's easy to get a fever.”

Robb emerged, quickly, gasping for air, rivers running down his head of hair, and he rubbed his eyes dry, trying to look at who spoke.

Another beautiful man was entering the pool.

For a moment he hoped it to be Renly, but, instead, it was a much younger man, closer to him in age, with beautiful eyes like old molten gold, lazy curls the colour of chestnuts, and a graceful, thin body.

His glance, though, was cold and cutting like steel.

Robb had the sensation of having wildly offended that man he didn't even know.

“You must be the Stark boy. - he commented, with something of a dignified anger and hurt hauteur to him – You have a certain northern stoutness.”

Robb bit his bottom lip.

He did not see why him being stout should have been a problem. He was strong and good with a sword. Surely Renly would have appreciated that.

“And you smell like a maid's bath soap. - he retorted – Your name?”

The man raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “Loras Tyrell. - he seemed to be looking at Robb's body with a studious, inquisitive look, which left the Stark feeling embarrassed and violated – Your marks?”

Robb blinked, confused. Were all southerners so open about their marks that one could ask a stranger to see them? So bluntly?

He didn't want to seem a coward or a prudish northerner, though, so he then raised his arm to show them.

Loras looked at the fingerprint mark with concern, frowning; he grabbed Robb's arm and tilted it slightly up and down, trying to look at it as if he could from that spot anything.

“Excuse me? - Robb blurted, embarrassed – Could you not?”

Manners seemed wasted on the Tyrell boy, all focused and staring.

The fingerprints, though, were barely distinguishable one from another – the only confirm of one's soulmate state is that they'd burn and sting when the soulmate would finally touch them.

Loras, though, swallowed down dryly and looked quite satisfied with what he saw.

Robb felt almost mocked as Loras' lips twitched up, curling into a little smile.

He tugged his arm back, yanking, and glared, “What do you want?”

Loras Tyrell retracted, his gold eyes looked colder than ice, and he just leaned on the stone rim of the bath.

“I don't get why the King chose you.”

“My father and the king have been friends since a long time. - Robb replied, suspicious – Why? Did your sister or one of your brothers hope for an alliance with the Baratheons?”

Loras sucked his lips red, and glared.

“You're a green child, speaking of things you know nothing about.”

“I think I know enough.”

“If you did, you wouldn't have come. - Loras blurted, sour, his pretty face twisted by furrowed brows and a distorted mouth – There is no place here for you.”

Robb stood up, anger running through him and riding his nerves to a flame.

He slapped the water and shouted, “What would that mean?”

His voice rang between the pools, but Loras Tyrell just gave him an iced look, and left.

 

*

 

Renly Baratheon entered the room, dressed up in forest green, vest to tunic to armour – beaded in gold and bathed in silk, his face looked just akin an apparition from a song. He wore his full and hefty hair on his shoulders, with a golden string painting a waterfall braid in it.

Robb found himself nervous.

He gulped.

His head was drumming.

Confusion was a dim din trashing through his eardrums, his heartbeat was choking him up, and yet, with that thunderous turmoil dragging through him, he felt a weird emptiness.

Rotten thorns made a nest in his chest.

He didn't like him.

He was a man, sure, not a little maid, he had a handsome face, strong traits … even too much. He looked so manly and imposing.

_But I fancy men, don't I? Then why would I complain? What's wrong with my heart? Am I just craven and a green child missing home?_

Renly smiled at him courteously enough, smiled and lifted Robb's hand ever so graciously. Robb wished, just for an instant, he'd touch where the marks on his arm were, so he could have felt the burn and felt reassured – but then fear sank in and bloomed through him, putrid and sour, and lying to himself seemed to taste so sweet, he started hoping for him not to. He wanted to keep thinking it to be true, for a while.

_I'm just afraid, I'm just afraid. It shall all be fine._

Renly kissed the back of Robb's hand and Robb could feel the little scratch of his shaven cheeks. But flames didn't dance in his belly.

He wondered if maybe he had hoped too much.

He was a man, after all.

Maybe love was not for him. He was no damsel.

Robb smiled weakly and then retracted his hand, as if Renly had scalded it instead of leaving it cold and sad.

Loras Tyrell was looking at him from the corner of the room, he glared greenly at them, with a muted anger that sliced Robb's stomach. 

Robb opted to ignore him, the back of his mouth tasted sour, like the once iced, now melted water, and his heart felt pierced and impaled from the ribs. He smiled all through the dinner, laughing at Renly Baratheon's jokes, and sharing stories of his own hunting trips in the North, which seemed to impress the lord quite a lot. 

He entertained him all he could, with cheerful tales and legends and pretended Renly's amusement at his number of siblings did not wound him.

Once the music had stopped and the meat had gotten cold, though, Robb's energies extinguished slowly, like a flame consuming the candle gets smaller.

And when Renly Baratheon clapped his hands together loudly and celebratory, claiming it was time to retire, Robb had felt his heavy shoulders finally relaxing and ravaging from his back.

He felt the blue dull and run away from his eyes, sadness coming over, and he was not going to be good at hiding it much longer; he could feel it creep and bleed out of him, slow and unavoidable, dragging away all his masks. Robb stood up as soon as he could without offending anyone and rushed out of the dining room.

He felt like he was going to puke.

_His face doesn't tell me anything, his hands don't make me shiver – he's a man and yet he arouses me no more than a woman would. He is a man like thousands of others on earth._

He bit his lips, sank his face in his bed as if the pressure of the pillow could heal it or the puerile stubbornness of his thoughts.

_A marriage is a political act, Robb, get your mind to work. It's not about love, soulmates are a thing for knights and damsels in stories or for little country people and farmers and millers, who can chose who to marry without responsibilities pushing them._

_I have things to do. This is the Stormlands. My lord father and lady mother have already granted me a huge gift by allowing me a man, and here I am, criticizing it! Unhappy with the result!_

_He's charming and brave, I'm lucky._

_He looks like the king. He's frivolous. He's so friendly but it seems all fake._

Robb's nose hurt but he kept pressing it against the hard mattress, forcing his eyes shut. His mind was drilling through him with thoughts he couldn't allow himself.

_Maybe if he touches my arm … maybe I'd have some hope._

_And what if turns out I don't feel anything?_

_Did my lady mother love my father all at once? Did it grow out of them, blooming from old, dry wounds? Did they just lie?_

A knock on the door shook him awake and vigilant.

Robb tensed, waited a moment before answering – should he have faked being asleep and avoided whoever it was? Should he have been well-mannered? – and, when he decided to leave the bed and come to the door, he found nobody waiting for him. Just the void.

His glance fell down, though.

On a dish were a small peach tart and a goblet of dornish red. He had not eaten much at the banquet, through his laughs, he had found it difficult to swallow down anything.

Dessert and wine, sure, had not been in his thoughts.

He took them from the floor and smiled, tenderly.

_He is sweet_ , Robb thought, foolishly hopeful, _he noticed_ .

The night felt more luminous than the afternoon had.

 

*

 

Robb rushed into the dining hall that morning smiling wide, hope running through him as through a river bend. He couldn't help but feel that, yes, good things were to come.

The table was filled with soft corn, honeycomb, bread, ripe, juicy peaches, milk jugs and the scent of flowers.

His father was munching while Robb sat next to him.

“You look... in a good mood.”, Eddard observed, eating slowly. Some runny yolk stained his beard with the colour of the sun.

Robb sucked his lips, holding back a chuckle.

“I am. - Robb said – I am very much.”

His father didn't seem convinced but nodded, “King Robert and I are going to the capital soon. - he admitted – He said he had a proposal for me and that he would like me to keep him company for a while, but we will return for the wedding in a moon.”

Robb smiled, his glance falling on his tunic sleeve, where his marks were.

He was going to be happy, he decided. Or try, at the very least.

He remembered Sansa was always training to be a perfect lady, learning to sing songs and play the bells and sew to be the most perfect lady to flaunter, so he decided to expose his own skills. Not sing, of course, nor any of those other girly things that he had not even a blink of an idea how to do.

He had a better plan.

 

*

 

Robb let out a huge grin, sending another man to the ground. He rubbed his face clean of the mud and smiled victoriously.

Even just training with the wooden swords in Winterfell, he had developed enough skill to flaunter, and slam the men of Renly's personal guard to the ground.

Robb was also hyperaware of Theon Greyoy, leaning against a wooden column of the stable, looking at him and smirking, smug, laughing at the failures of his own friends. Next to him, a tall, huge woman, with blond hair and mail. She didn't seem to want to join the competition, but given her dimensions, Robb was quite happy with it.

He wanted to look good, not to get humiliated publically.

Robb was almost panting, after throwing to the soft ground another guard – his eyes were the rawest shade of blue and Theon was looking at him with indecisive doubt. There was an arrogance to him, but it seemed to be failing him in that instant.

When Loras Tyrell arrived to the grounds and glared at Robb, Theon got back his amused, cocky look and would bend near Loras and comment Robb's skills .

Loras was better, there was no doubt of that.

He was lean and faster and he had trained as a knight for years now; but that was with a longsword and Robb was taller and wider than the knight and sheer strength should have counted for something.

Or maybe he was just angry and wanted to prove himself.

To please and appease both Renly and his own ego.

The need to win burnt through him like sick fire.

They didn't need an armor for training, but Robb felt almost insulted by sir Loras leaving his curls moving in the wind, some even over his eyes, as if he didn't need to even see him. He spotted Theon Greyjoy chuckling next to Renly, a smirk so sharp and cutting that Robb felt it sink in the bottom of his stomach pit.

_Why does he look like he could swallow me whole?_

_Why does he look like all the black whirlpools of the sea?_

Robb forced himself to look at Renly instead.

But his blue eyes were on Loras.

_No, it can't be._

He shrugged off the thought and advanced – when their swords kissed and slapped, the vibrating echo ran through their arms and hurt their bones. 

Every hit, every slam, the tension sprang and rose through them, it cursed and cut through their strength. Loras was almost dancing, fluid as water, quick as a weasel, with that thin frame he had, Robb would instead smash his sword against the sharp edge of the other. The clang, the clash, the slam, it all felt almost too hard.

He never trained like that, he never hated like that.

But that man seemed to sit on him like a burn – he was salt on wounds, he'd sit in the cracks of his doubts and torment him.

He started to bring all of himself out. His arms would flung down with a blow too hard for Loras to not clench his jaw at, his legs would spring, his posture would go forward and hard. 

Loras was too graceful, too used to tournaments and perfect places to not count on a courteous enemy.

But Robb was a wolf. And wolves know no manners.

His hilt slammed against Lora's sword and forced Loras to drop it, his hand almost getting cut by his own sword falling back.

Loras was a perfect knight.

Robb was barely a lord.

When Loras Tyrell moved back, his sword hitting the ground, while a wicked grin came to Robb's lips, Robb knew he had to stare at Renly proudly but calmly.

Instead, he smiled wide, and turned to Theon Greyjoy.

Theon blinked, impressed and confused all the same.

It took Robb a moment to realize he should have diverted his eyes and, in that time, Renly Baratheon had reached them, quickly, hastily rushing to Loras; the lord of Storm's End had stopped just before them and, clenching his fist, had turned to Robb with a thin smile.

“My congratulations, my betrothed.”

Robb shook his head, then, clumsily.

“It was just some good luck.”

“I'm sure it was more than that. - Renly said, courteously enough and cold all the same, then glanced at Loras – If you'd excuse me, I need to check your opponent's health.”

“Oh. - Robb's voice fell small like a tweet – Of course.”

Renly's hands were soon holding Loras' ones, his smile to him not just friendly and courteous but warm and kind. Robb tasted moonlight and saw the sunlight instead, given to someone else.

He ought have been jealous. He should have been.

Instead, he was not.

And what was worse, when Theon Greyjoy came to him, smirking, eyebrows up and commented, “That was something”, Robb felt as if the sun rose in his belly.

It made no sense, and yet …

“We shall go hunting!”, Renly exclaimed, clapping to himself.

Robb jolted and stiffened, Theon was so close he had almost forgotten about his supposed future lord.

He felt the gulf of his stomach poisoned by a weird darkness, when Renly held him by the back.

“We should also discuss our heraldry. - he said, quick and smooth like cold river waters – For the seamstresses to prepare your cloak.”

Robb frowned, staring at Renly's hand almost on his waist. It felt wrong.

He would have wanted to hold his waist, his hips, to … well, not to Renly, came to think of it. Of someone more like …

Theon Greyjoy seemed to let out a chuckle, “You shouldn't take for granted who will cloak who, my lord.”

Renly scoffed, almost offended, “I'm sure Robb doesn't share your confusion, Theon.”

Robb's eyes burned and shone.

It felt wrong.

His soulmate marks seemed to scream and beg him to run away.

 

*

 

When Robb heard the sound of boots near his door, he had hoped for Renly.

He moved close to the door swiftly, ready to open it. Perhaps, he hoped, this time they would actually speak.

But, instead, the person lingered beyond the door for a while, walking up and down, before knocking on the wood, with a quick, confident hit.

Robb opened the door immediately with a big smile and shiny eyes, feeling as light as if he had the sky in the lungs. And... no Renly. He felt the corners of his lips sinking, lowering slowly, twitching.

They had become too heavy to sustain.

_Theon Greyjoy._

The older boy smiled at him and showed a cocky smirk, as per usual, just, this time, it seemed tense, as if he was making an effort to wear it.

Robb's eyes shone with conflict.

Part of him was stung and sour over it being Theon and not Renly, but another part … his heartbeat had started drumming so loud his ears felt deafened.

“Lord Greyjoy.”

“Starkling. - he grinned, leaning on the doorstep – I don't want to intrude, but I saw you seemed … bored, today, in the woods.”

_Bored?_

Robb squinted his eyes, frowning. Was Theon so bad at distinguishing emotions? Or just at being honest?

And was he worried for him?

“So I thought, I must show him something really... exciting. He's from Winterfell, he's used to the woods, right? You must be bored to death by them.”

Robb's lips brushed up a tiny, curled up smile.

Theon's smirk had grown bigger, “Come.”

“...at this time of the night?”, Robb asked, blinking.

That was not responsible.

And he didn't do irresponsible things. Usually.

Theon, though, felt so captivating. So darkly smouldering under his skin, through his veins.

And he found himself following Theon, automatically and without question.

 

*

 

They rode their horses, fast and strong, their hooves slapping the ground under – the stone whined, and their faces got sprayed by the salt water and foam coming from the agitated, stormy waves.

Theon had brought him to the drop to admire how the walls dropped into the ocean, giving themselves up to the huge, vast blue.

It was gorgeously annihilating.

Robb had never felt so small and so big at the same time.

The wind was slapping him and his eyes were irritated by coldness and salt and yet he barely felt bad. The night was vast and black and the breeze called him with murmurs and whispers in the warmest voice he had heard since leaving Winterfell.

Time seemed to have a way of reaching him.

And in the moist, wet, southern summer, he suddenly felt at home again.

“It's one hundred and fifty feet. - Theon Greyjoy commented behind him, as excited as a kid who had discovered a snake in the low grass – Fascinating, right?”

Robb smiled, then turned to him.

He was not looking at the deep drop, rather at the further away, flat horizon. The waves would jump high to the sky, trying to get it, as if they wanted to climb to the pale perlaceous moon. But Theon Greyjoy looked at it as if it were the calmest scenery.

Robb blinked.

He had never seen that look on himself, and yet he felt all the muscles of his face recognize it.

“... do you miss your home?”

“Pyke? - Greyjoy scoffed – I’ve been here for 10 years, I've spent more time away from it than in it.”

Robb looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time.

“You were a child.”

He saw Theon Greyjoy's apple jump in his throat and clench in a tight knot.

“My father lost the war to yours. - he said, suddenly cold, as if he wanted to push Robb so far away, way further than one hundred fifty feet beyond – It was what needed to be done.”

“My father. - Robb shouted, his voice catching him behind the nape as it echoed down the cliff, with a desperate pitch Robb didn't realize he had used – Not me.”

Theon Greyjoy stared at him, confused. And enthralled, all the same.

“Why do you want to marry Renly that bad?”

Robb frowned, tilting his head, “Why do you hate him so? Lord Baratheon seems to deem you a friend.”

“He makes friends easily.”

“And you don't?”

“I make whores easily.”

Robb's nose twitched. Nobody in his life ever commented sex like that; Winterfell was old, contained, archaic in its ways. And Robb's closest friend had always been Jon, who was many things but not adventurous.

He felt suddenly exposed, more naked than had he had no clothes on.

And for some reason, despite him speaking about women, Theon's eyes were gliding over Robb’s body, from down upwards, slowly, as if a glance could brush, paint, caress. That look glazed Robb with fire and need.

He licked his lips nervously, and gulped slow and heavy.

His eyes ran on Theon's body too, for a moment, but more than anything, on something that had nothing to do with the body – his voice, the way he moved, spoke, acted, the way his lips twitched up in a grin, the swiftness and smoothness he had to him. Robb shivered, commanding himself some composure.

_I'm melting. Like seafoam._

Theon's eyes just felt like hot darkness as they skimmed and slithered over him.

“Cruel or charming?”

“Hm?”

“The way you’re looking at me, pardon. - a grin – You see me as...”

_Charming. Too much for my own good._

“Confused, I'd reckon. - Robb glared, sustaining Theon's look – And with a taste for mischief.”

Theon laughed, nodding, he placed his tongue between his teeth and caressed them with it, amused or offended or both at the same time.

His hand then moved, skidding slow near Robb's hip, stopping just before it, to grab the horse's reins instead, with good excuse to keep his head in place. Robb stiffened, realizing – _I would have liked that hand on me_ – and shivered as his cock twitched at the notion.

Theon Greyjoy bent slightly, his plump, soft lips in another smirk, but not smug this time, rather wicked.

“You're no lady, you don't need to keep your maidenhood intact, you know that, right?”

Robb swallowed and let out a snappy scoff.

“What?”

Theon's eyes gleamed with an eager, frenzied stillness. 

“Renly sure hadn't given you the courtesy.”

Robb furrowed his eyebrows. His lips twitched and his nose wrinkled up in anger.

“Do you get pleasure from hurting others? - he blurted out, wounds opening in his voice, bleeding out – Are you that sad this is all you know how to do?”

Theon's eye flinched. His eyebrows furrowed and bent, and he looked almost hurt, but just for a moment, a moment alone.

Then a scoff came out of his mouth, snarky and spiked, thorns of metallic cruelty wrapped around his tongue and pulled it. And his smirk became a grimace.

“Oh. How was that tart? I forgot to ask.”

Robb's eyes trembled.

The azure turned from raw to pained, and it shone with a wet burn.

His lips quivered, big and red. He licked them, almost without perceiving his own tongue, his mind rushing and spinning around it.

Humiliation caressed shame and his face felt smouldering.

“It was you...?”

Theon sucked his lips and his eyes glided over Robb. The Stark could read temptation in his look and feel it simmering and glimmering in his own stomach.

_Will he eat me whole?_

_Shouldn't I be the wolf?_

Theon's apple jumped and tightened, a transparent rope showing his pulse and desire.

“You seemed too sad.”

Robb gulped down, glancing, his hands trailed and ghosted over Theon's wrists. He was tall and handsome too, but in a way much more delicate than Renly was, he looked almost vulnerable.

And his grins and smug smirks seemed like a thin veil.

Robb's hands trembled as he wondered what would he had found, had he moved it from his face.

_The night, the sea, a perfect storm?_

The turmoil in his stomach scared him. It seemed to announce, in the loudest silence, that something was about to happen, impending as only hunger can be.

His lips quivered.

He felt his heartstrings pull and beg.

“We have to go in. - Robb said, in a whisper – It's getting cold.”

 

*

 

The morning after he did not crave to wake up.

Robb had opened his eyes but was holding onto the pillow and swallowing down slowly, staring in the void.

His mind was betraying him.

His mind and his, well... that too, but gods be damned, he could not wake up with the absurd thought of the Greyjoy lordling. 

And with the absurd dream of entering in him and melting in him.

He should be focused on Renly, on the lord he was supposed to marry and be with in his thoughts all over, raining like a waterfall on his figure of gold.  _And black. A golden kraken. Oh, Robb, you damn fool._

He felt his youth tingle through him, louder and louder, like a drumming chant of a siren – or a tempting demon? - murmuring his name. _Theon, look at how it heightens and lowers, how it bends like the distant waves, coming slowly to the shore, the undertow bringing you with him. Theon, sounds like music, doesn't it?_

He shrugged the thought of him and forced himself to stand up for a bath and some breakfast.

When the maid came over to fill his wood and copper tub with lukewarm water, and looked at the sheets, she barely held back a giggle. Robb felt a violating violet anger seizure through him, his cheeks staining red.

They kept treating him like some maiden who had just bloomed.

He sent the servant away and cleaned himself alone, starting to wonder if he had made a mistake, after all, in coming there.

He looked at his soulmate marks – “maybe it's Renly”, he murmured to himself. The desperation in his voice was pathetic and as tender as tired spring waves and as dense and bright as yolk.

They had come out earlier than usual; marks would come from seventeen to nineteen usually, cruelly, perhaps, as families would arrange marriages way beforehand – maybe it was to forbid people from searching desperately for their soulmate and end up marrying someone lowborn. And Robb had hoped, seriously and deeply that those marks coming so early were a sign, a help, a good thing.

He could have... had a chance to know before.

Now they just seemed a curse.

He held his knees close, rested his cheek on them, and breathed in the dust setting over him, and the water dripping at the sides.

_Maybe it's Renly._

He didn't even want it to be him. And yet he hoped it with all of him.

 

*

 

Renly had gone to hunt without warning him. Just him and Loras Tyrell apparently, deep in the kingswood.

Robb's heart sank at the idea, but he promised himself not to think badly of Lord Renly. Especially not just because of Theon Greyjoy's words. But it didn't result easy.

His mind wandered on, though.

The words of that night echoed through him – “You don't need to keep your maidenhood intact, you know that, right? Renly sure hadn't given you the courtesy.” – and it sat on his stomach as tension pooled in his lungs, heavy and sticky. 

Theon had placed the peach tart and wine.

Theon had been looking out for him.

Renly's figure started to thin in his mind and heart, he was courteous and friendly and nice, but he had also been absent and missed.  _Yet, he's the one I have to marry. He's the one I'm promised to._

_I have to be correct._

_I can't screw the chance my lord father and lady mother gave me._

_Did they love each other from their first glance? Maybe with time I'll learn to love him. Maybe the problems I have with Renly are due simply to my own fears, maybe... would Renly let me take control if I asked? And why would it matter so much? He is my betrothed, it's not like I can just …_

_I have to be faithful and true to him._

“Brienne! - Theon laughed – You have to aim at the centre of the target, I assumed you were informed of that.”

The tall woman knight gave Theon a look that was as much affectionate as it was tired, like an older, bigger hound watching a yappy lap dog barking in her direction, all pompous and puffed up.

Brienne smiled, shaking her head, and then looked at Robb.

“Strutting around your plumage?”, she asked him.

Theon didn't turn towards Robb, at first. He just gulped down slowly and looked at her more. “I'm no peacock, though, if we want to be picky, I ha...”

“Please, refrain.”, she begged, already imagining where he was heading to.

His voice dropped and he seemed nervous, “Is he still looking?”

“The Stark lordling? - she faked obliviousness, then smiled – Maybe he wants you to train him too.”

“What would a Stark do with a bow?”

“What would a Greyjoy be without his sharp tongue? - she mocked – Just ask him.”

Theon unsheathed his brightest, shit-eating smirk and grinned, turning to Robb.

“Starkling! How unexpected!”

Robb moved to the centre of the garden, where they were training, and showed a little grin, shiny enough that Theon almost felt an unusual fluttering in his stomach.

“You are a good archer.”

“One of my many talents. - he claimed, cocky, and he saw Brienne shaking her head, so he coughed, cleared his voice and asked – Would you care to... try?””

“I'm horrible at it. - he admitted – When I saw Renly caught that deer, I felt a certain envy, I admit.”

Theon bit his lips, sour. But didn't speak.

Robb frowned, looked down and then continued, “I suppose I should have just felt swooned but... somehow it's not really what happened.”

Theon raised an eyebrow, confused. Then his smirk grew sharp.

“Would you rather be the one to shoot deer for him?”

It sounded half a mock, half a snicker, but his voice was so sweet, as the night, and just as dark, so Robb drank it eagerly and soon found himself craving more words.

“Yes.”, he replied, almost without noticing.

Theon's lips then seemed softer.

Almost like thick, fleshy petals. Robb bit his own mouth, craving to tear and pull Theon's. _Claim him, like a vandal hoard, like ironborns do with their saltwives. Slamming him against a boats wood, or on a sandy beach, tearing his clothes, sinking into him, pushing while he writhes and squirms in the sand_ … he shivered, realizing how he was staring.

But Theon didn't seem to mind it, actually.

His dark blue eyes seemed to grow hotter.

He bent slightly, his hand ghosted over Robb's elbow and brushed it gently. “I’ll show you how.”

Robb's hands grabbed tentatively the bow and he kept it close to him. He suddenly regretted always being awful at archery.

_I could have seemed a natural._

… since when did he want to impress him, though?

He placed the bow and arrow nicely, thanks to Theon's tapering, long fingers redirecting it slightly; shivers ran down Robb's spine, they set his fingers on blue fire. He stiffened, while Theon's lips caressed the shell of his ear ever so gently.

And so terribly smouldering.

“You have a good stance. - he murmured with a molten, metallic voice - like a siren – Now, lead the arrow.”

Robb pulled the arrow back, his hand trembled imperceptibly, while he closed one eye to try to aim at the target better.

He felt Theon's breath tingle against his ear.

Then Theon's lips smacked slightly with a wet sound, as if he just stopped sucking something juicy.

Robb felt his cock jump, but he restrained and begged, begged so desperately in silence, for it not to be visible from his breeches.

“The arrow depends on you, Starkling, feel how tense it is under your fingers. - something between a chuckle and a hum – Shoot it.”

Robb felt his crotch jerk and he shot the arrow, panicking with a frenzied shiver. It hit the target just marginally but Theon smirked and handed him another without losing a certain mocking and yet warm attitude.

“It's normal the first time. - he commented, positioning the next arrow for him, putting himself behind Robb, lining up their faces, his voice knocking at his ear like desire promising to open the doors of a dornish paradise – To lose control. - Theon breathed in, then chuckled – Now, do better, aim with precision. Feel the shaft of the arrow tremble over your hand.”

Robb stiffed, bit down his lip.

Theon's hand guided him on his shoulder, “How it throbs under you...”

This time the arrow hit closer to the centre, but it was truly not the perfect shot; and yet, Theon's hands patted Robb's arm proudly.

“How good. - he mused – You sure would hunt wonderfully.”

Robb gulped down, feeling a weird heat rushing and washing all over him. His head sipped down the vertigo, he felt drunk with the space between him and Theon closing up.

“I don't think you like to hurt others.”, he blurted out, inadvertently quickly.

Theon swallowed down, his throat clenching the knot again and he murmured, almost weak, almost bewitched, “I know you're not your lord father.”

Robb's lips corners curled up and he looked at Theon's eyes, while the Greyjoy's hand touched his arm as to give it a complimentary pat.

Robb froze.

His lips quivered and blood left his heart, leaving him to feel hollowed out and pierced through.

His marks burned.

They stung and burned as if iron had just passed over them.

Theon frowned, tilting his head by the side, “Do you feel ill? You got pale...”

“I have to go.”

Robb was not sure if he said it. If his voice exited his mouth or just stayed there, trapped, as heavy as lead and stones.

He just wished he could run where nobody could see him, and so he did.

 

*

 

Loras rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, leaning against the bed stand.

Renly was laying on the mattress with his stomach down, a lazy golden and green silk sheet covered his body with languid insufficiency.

His hand would dance, fingertips caressing the flowers he had gotten tailors and seamstresses to design on the pillows of that room for him and Loras to sleep in.

He had always had that: expensive taste and a care for perfect details.

Loras loved that of him, because it always left him feeling so protected and cherished – like he was a treasure to expose in a room, on velvets and glory, something that should never be scratched or stolen or even be deprived of attention.

It was part of Renly's charm - the way he made everyone feel essential and loved.

And Loras could still remember the first years together, as lovers, when he was naive and young and fiery, and he'd get jealous of the boys painted in Renly's collection or of stable boys he'd wink at or give a flower to.

He had to learn to see beyond that.

But a wedding, that was something else …

“Stark is not so bad. - Renly commented, grabbing a peach from the plate – It's just a political matter, like my brothers and their wives, means nothing. We'll still bed.”

“Gods forbid I may have wanted more than to be your paramour.”, Loras snapped, sour.

He was so beautiful even his bitterness seemed to stir Renly's blood, and then he curled up his lips and cooed at him, “Lor, Lor, sweet Lor. - he hummed, kissing behind Loras' ear – It's politics. I'll tell Stark, I'll leave him his own paramours.”

“I don't think you're grasping the issue, _my king_. - he said, using a sweet pet name for way more private moments and then pouting – I'm a fourth son, it's not like I ever needed to marry a maid or give Highgarden heirs.”

Renly squinted his eyes and breathed in, trying not to raise his voice, “If I remember correctly, you were the one not to want to announce our... situation.”

Loras glared at him.

“To fellow knights! - he shouted this time, but he didn't move away from the bed, and when Renly placed his head on his lap, Loras' fingers didn't refuse to run through his hair – You know how... they look at us when they know. And I'm the knight of flowers. I can almost hear them talk.”

“Then you can't get surprised when …”

“But to your brother. - Loras continued, irate but still cuddling his lover – You could have told him.”

Renly scoffed, “As if he'd listen!”

“You could have tried.”

“Have you ever tried to tell anything to my brother?”

Loras raised an unconvinced eyebrow and his full lips pouted more. Renly smirked, finding that indignation endearing and perfect.

“As soon as your mark will appear, we will both have it. - Renly licked his lips – And Robert will listen.”

“Your mark should be enough.”

“It should, but you know he was mismatched.”

Loras sucked his lips, his knuckles went white as he held himself. “But you'll be married before.”

“It's just a marriage.”

“Would you talk like that if I were to marry someone else?”

Renly scoffed and gulped dry.

“... you're not. - he bit his lips – Are you?”

Loras looked away.

“I'm not. It makes no sense to light a candle if what you crave is sunlight.”

Renly squinted, observing him as if he was seeing him for the first time.

“I'll ask Stark to wait a moon more.”

“Robert will throw a tantrum.”, Loras observed.

Renly grabbed some dark, wine-colored plums and gave one to his lover while he bit into another, the sweetest red staining his lips like diluted blood.

“I'll tell him I'm organizing a trip for my beautiful groom.”

Loras rolled his eyes back in his skull, irritated, “He has his marks already, and he's younger than me...”

Renly let out a small smile, fatherly, he caressed Loras' hair and pulled him close, “His prints are not mine though.”

“No. - Loras grinned, wicked, kissing Renly slow and sweet – They didn't have the scar that’s across your thumb.”

“You know me too well.”

 

*

 

Robb's pillow had the print of his face hours later, as he pressed and whined and screamed into it.

He had rolled in his bed over and over, trying to find a way for the pain to stop.

But it didn't.

If anything, it had grown sharper. The edges of his heart had turned to razorblades and nothing felt safe and whole.

_Why him? Why him of all people?_

_Not even a stranger, not even nameless, not even someone I’ve never met._

_Not my husband. But someone close to him and that I know, and will have to share time with._

_Why him?_

_When did this much pain become part of the deal? I've been not allowed enough happiness yet for this to feel worthy of my heart condensing and pulsing and splattering._

_I lost myself thirty times in the second of his touch and I lost my mind thirty more every instant since I parted._

His knuckles turned to fiery white as he clutched the pillow and held onto it, clenching his jaw until his teeth grinded painfully.

He missed Theon already.

His veins hurt as he pressed hard, his heart felt like it had been pierced through – all the blood gushing out and so all his strength.

_I miss him, I miss him._

_Gods, don't let this happen._

_Gods, don't let me be this weak, this undone. Is this a foul game? A trick? Are you fond of mischief or wanted to teach me to be a responsible lord?_

_Make it stop, make it stop._

The thought of Theon's lips around his tip ad then enveloping his cock sent jolts of fire through his spine and thunder sparked blue through his nerves. He could feel himself throbbing just at the idea of Theon sucking him until he’d press his head and drive into him and fuck him.

And then, after coming, he'd kiss him, and they'd exchange the taste and kiss until the moonlight would drown in a drawn dawn.

He bit his lips, trying to hold onto resolution.

Family, duty, honor.

His family expected things of him, his family had given him this gift, his family protected him and he needed to be a good lord.

Duty, his duty was to marry Renly, to unite their houses, to let them finally be as they were supposed to.

Honor... all his father fought so hard to protect over these years.

Yes, he knew he needed to be quiet about this silly thing, forget Theon – or suffer in silence and dignity at least – and follow his duty.

He needed to. To protect his family.

… _but I don't want to._

_How will I be able to do something that sits so wrong and heavy on my heart?_

Then he resolved, maybe he should go and see Renly, and ask of him what he thought, without speaking of soulmates, maybe Renly would have found that puerile, but he could ask if he liked him or how he felt about the marriage.

He nodded to himself and opened the door to his room, ready to go to Renly's chambers, sure to find him alone.

And not with sir Loras Tyrell riding him, his cheeks burying Renly's whole length, desperately eager, as Robb wished for Theon to do with his.

 

*

 

The destrier neighed loudly as the sea bellowed loud and round and black, swollen with the profound shivers of a thunderous storm to come. It roared and shrieked, while the night, heavy and dark, spat its breeze on them.

Robb pulled the reins, contemplating the hollowed up earth giving up to the sea.

Moist, hot, shaken – nothing like the north, in any way.

And yet, what he missed was not home, but that part of him that had hoped for things to end up well, to align, to find their pieces. The innocence he found on the travel and lost soon after arriving wounded him.

He had been so stupid.

What his parents had was an exception, not a rule. He had confused all along the possibility not to lie with the one to be happy.

His eyes stung.

His arm still burnt.

Was there anything more cruel? Not only did Renly and him not match, but they had both found theirs somewhere else.

Which hope did they have to build a marriage like that?

To do or hope or create? Nothing would have made sense.

They already knew it was going to be just a contract, just land, just a political chess match.

There was no space for even dreaming of it turning out better.

And even then, with duty shouting in his chest, begging Robb to listen, to contain – the echo that his heartstrings gave back sung another charm: Theon, Theon, Theon.

But that... that was foolish too.

Theon didn't react minimally to them touching.

“There you are!”

Robb turned, his face wet with tears and the prayers of the waves shattering against the rocks. His freckles looked flushed, his lips red.

His eyelids twitched.

“... Theon.”

Theon Greyjoy pulled the reins of his Smiler strongly, almost choking the beast who protested loudly; then he jumped off and moved to Robb, rushing, running on the thin lines above the abyss.

“We were all worried for you, Starkling.”

“All?”, Robb blinked, his voice dull and tired, almost a mocking scoff.

Theon frowned, surprised, but he still looked cocky, smirking back at him slightly, “Lord Renly is afflicted by the fear you may have... misinterpreted what you saw.”

Robb swallowed, raising his eyebrows.

“There was not much to misinterpret.”

Theon's lips curled down slightly, and his jaw clenched with a muscle that hollowed his cheek.

His voice seemed so still, the tempest behind them seemed to have drown quieter.

“A marriage means nothing. - Theon murmured – You don't have to adapt when he wouldn't.”

Robb let out a choked, sour laugh, “Honor, words... those mean something to me. To my family.”

“And yet. - Theon's eyes flamed – Your lord father gave the world a bastard all the same.”

Robb's eyes slid on his arms, almost automatically, while Theon got closer.

He could feel Theon's glance linger on his arm too, not flinching, not backing, not hesitating.

“You know how it works between two men?”

Robb felt his throat set alight.

“It doesn't take a master...”

“Do you know what Renly likes? - Theon inquired then, looking at him – Would you take Loras' role? Would you even like it? Or do you count on changing him?”

“These are not essential matters to a marriage. - Robb mumbled, staring now at the sea turning to fragments and glasswork against the high rocks – But if he loves Loras, I...”

“Love? - Theon snickered – _Love_?”

“Ignore me. - Robb shook his head – Or laugh, if you please. But knowing I'll have to compete against Renly's soul match, I...”

Theon laughed, smug.

“Don't tell me you believe in those marks. - he teased – Those things are fairytales for maidens. I've had so many touch my mark, hadn't burned once.”

“They were not right, then. - Robb insisted, now looking at Theon and sustaining his gaze – Because they work.”

“Oh really? - Theon lifted his eyebrows and mouth corners – And how do you know? Did they burn when Renly touched you?”

His mouth was smirking.

But his eyes shone sad. As a prayer.

_Please, say they didn't_ , they seemed to beg.

“Not Renly.”

Theon frowned, angry. His voice came out spitted and thorny. “Loras?”

Robb looked away then, terrified of being discovered, “None of your interest.”

And in the quiet, a bruised thunder shook the sky and the rain started to pour heavy on them.

Robb closed his eyes and laughed, raising his head up and welcoming the fresh, cold rain on his face. Theon chuckled, shaking his head, and grabbed Robb by the arm, again over the mark, making Robb's skin burn, his lips quiver and his hips buckle.

Robb sucked his lips and lifted slowly his eyelids, meeting Theon's look with his own.

Theon was a good couple of inches taller than him, but leaner, thinner too, and it was only when his hand went and cupped Theon's hip that Robb realized he was stronger than the Greyoy lordling.

He was not sure why that would arouse him, but it did.

He held Theon's hip closer, pulling, and Theon's hands caressed Robb's face, his thumb dragging slow on his jawline, then flickering on his full lips.

“Tell me I'm not mistaken and mislead.”, Robb whispered, more as a prayer than as an actual question, more to the gods than to Theon.

Theon swallowed slow and his hand ran on Robb's chin.

“Tell me I've understood right, then.”

Robb laughed, but it was just as lighting broke on the sea and a thunder roared close to them, that he felt the rain as cold and sharp and not as a blessed kiss. 

“We should go. - Theon said, quickly, looking away – Come.”

“Where to?”, Robb asked, almost afraid it had to be a goodbye.

“To find shelter. - Theon looked away – Before... going back to the castle.”

The cavern was cold and lit up by a tender blue light given by the sea reflecting on its white rock walls, the thunders would make it shine slightly, and Robb could smell it, brackish and salty. His hand caressed the surface.

Theon rummaged through the haversack he had on Smiler, and grabbed a thick wool mantle out of it, he probably meant to use it in case searching for Robb had taken over the whole night, but instead, he handed it to him now.

“Here. - he gave a little smirk – You're soaked wet.”

Robb held onto it and mumbled, “Maybe we should share it, you seem to be shivering too.”

“I think I'll have to keep my clothes on my legs, if I want to keep my head on my shoulders.”, Theon joked.

Robb frowned.

“Are you afraid of me now?”

“I'm not afraid. - Theon snapped, his grin twisting, nervous and metallic, his voice turning high pitched – I, that would be stupid.”

Robb's eyelids fluttered and glanced at Theon's body, wet, with clothes damply pressing all over it, drawing his limits. The hot, gorgeous darkness of his wet silk captivated him. 

Robb's glance fell on Theon's shoulders, still slim and lean, despite the weight of the longbow, his arms that looked painted, and then his angular wrist, a harmonious sculpture of veins and hairs and bone lines. Robb's hand went on it, holding that wrist, caressing it – Theon shivered imperceptibly, sucking down his lips bruised.

“Where is yours?”

“I don't think I have one. - he admitted, in a murmur – I just never saw it.”

Robb's blue eyes were heavier than any chain and nailed on Theon still, while the lordling caressed his hair and cheeks, playing with the wet locks with dedicated, delicate adoration.

He lifted a curl, holding it in his hand and kissed it, as if it were a lady's hand.

Theon's voice trembled, but he tried to laugh it off, cover it, bury it with a cocky laugh. “This won't make sense, Starkling.”

“Neither does me not trying. - Robb whispered – I think you owe me to let me know.”

Theon's lips hiccupped and he moved back of one step, finding his back stuck against the salt cavern walls. They felt cold, wet and perfect.

And Robb's hand scalded his wrist and his blue eyes reminded him of the way the sea is set alight by the sun.

He felt his hips begin to buckle, his knees reduced to soft cream.

Robb's hands went to Theon's tunic, to the rims of it meeting on the chest, to the vest covering it, separating him from Theon's heartbeat, pounding insane. Theon's eyes were blown black, all pupil.

Robb's hand parted his tunic's hems, they undid his strings and caressed the hairs under, blacker than the winter's sea.

That southern summer was not for them.

They were creatures from colder realms – soft snow and hard hail, tender ice and sharp rain. Their storms were not for lovers to hide in caves and lose clothes.

And yet, there and then, Robb blessed that South, so strange and so alienated.

He tore the tunic open, his hands grabbing, exploring, one went behind Theon's back, bringing him closer, the other caressed his hard, dark nipples; his lips travelled across Theon's skin, his collarbones, his small pecks – his teeth teased the edge of the nipples, before sliding on the stomach, his mouth sucking near the navel, intruding in it. 

“Here?”, he seemed to ask with a smouldering glance. But Theon couldn't reply, his eyes fully wet, his voice reduced to whines. 

Robb felt elated, a feverish frenzy running through him, as his tongue jolted inside Theon's navel and he squirmed, pushed a hand on his own mouth to muffle his moans, and the other on Robb's hair, pressing him deeper against it. Robb grinned against Theon's salty skin. And then he returned up, kissed his chest, rubbed his nose and inhaled the murky musky scent, and his lips brushed along the lagoon of his armpit, licking, biting the soft flesh.

Theon's legs trembled and his hips writhed.

Robb smirked against Theon's skin, sucking then, “Not here either?”, he asked.

Theon shook his head, weakly.

Robb's hand pulled Theon even closer, their crotches rubbing painfully hard, “I'm supposing if it had been  _there_ , you would have seen it. - his lips brushed Theon's ear, when a foolish bravery took possession of him – Maybe it's inside.”

But at that, Theon's hips writhed harder, squirming terribly wanton, and he shook his head. He felt dizzy from a stupid, damn, sudden need. He had never liked that before but now all he could think about was grabbing Robb's head and … Robb's lips looked so swollen and bruised, in absolute need of being pressed against his own.

Theon choked down that impulse, tried to look away, but Robb grabbed him by the jaw with three fingers.

Damned be the gods, the kid was commanding when he wanted.

And then Robb's mouth caught his and Theon closed his eyes, moving his jaw softly to welcome him, to let himself be taken.

And when Robb's tongue fit into him, filled his mouth, teased his own, Theon's eyes shook open.

It burnt. It burnt so good and long.

He frowned and sank against Robb, letting his hands roam and curl through Robb's locks, pulling him closer, digging into him, feeling Robb's tongue hitting the back of his throat and then again that point, at the base of his tongue that sent him spiralling through heaven.

It felt like drowning through flames that couldn't burn but only warm.

He felt an extraneous and all familiar heat grabbing his heart, squeezing it open, while his body craved just to feel closer to Robb's.

When they broke the kiss, Robb panted, breathless, and Theon just stared speechless for the first real time.

Under his tongue, he felt the searing bliss of having found a home.

Robb stared at him until he saw Theon nodding slowly, then returned to kiss him, and they tore each other's clothes to the ground, while the horses neighed at the rain.

 

*

 

“What does it mean you lost your groom?”, Robert shouted, blood coming to his cheeks like a flood.

The king's voice echoed in the entrance of Storm's End, roaring and defeaning, ringing like a bell's scream in the yard.

Eddard stiffened, worried, turning to Renly, “My lord, if I can, Robb may have a youthful recklessness to him but he's not the type to not care for others' worry. Didn't he leave a message?”

Loras rolled his eyes back to his skull, irritated, he clenched his fists and jaw.

Renly, more pale than aggravated, tried to force out of his thin lips a faint smile, “I am sure we're all worried for nothing. MY bestrode is strong and for sure he just took a … some days... trip in the woods. I'm confident he'll return soon.”

“Perhaps he wanted to disappear.”, Loras mumbled, unwillingly too loud.

_Curse him and his flammable tempter and stubbornness …_ , Renly taught for an instant, as his brother glared at both of them in wrath.

“Why would he? - he shouted – What did you do Renly?”

“Nothing! - he whined, defending himself, finding it hard to stare at his brother in the face while lying and Loras glaring at him for the truth – I'm sure he has no reason to...”

“With all due respect. - Loras came forward – Maybe the match was not meant to be, maybe lord Renly would benefit more of another one.”

Eddard's eyes darted in worry, “Maybe one with Highgarden? - he asked – Did you misplace my son for this? For a political ambition?”

Robert's hand moved to Ned's arm as to calm him.

It felt absurd for a moment, out of the world, but the Warden of the North soon realized it was not a good thing, it was due to Robert being beyond angry: furious. His mouth was trembling and his jaw clenched.

“I do not accept for you to question my alliances. Bring out Ned's boy or I'll have you chained until the fat rose comes rolling here to take you.”

Renly stepped in the middle, “Do not threaten my friends, brother, Lord Loras is under my protection and a member of my guard.”

“So is that tall freak of a woman, but if she stole a lord she'd still have to pay. And so would you. Where is he?”

“We do not know. - Renly's voice raised in exasperation – How shall we tell you for you to listen to us?”

Eddard frowned, seeing Loras clenching himself, trying to contain his anger from making him reply again to the king. He saw a bit of his Cat in him.

He seemed protective and outspoken.

And the way he looked at Renly … that reminded him of his Cat too.

“What brought Robb to escape? - he asked – Was he aware of... - he lowered his look and tried not to face Robert – Of your entente?”

Renly sucked his lips, sweating as a nervous smile came to him and he looked as loving as he could, “I hope you know, Lord Stark, I would have never hurt your son, had it not been necessary.”

“All pain we provoke to others we deem necessary.”, Ned said, low-voiced.

Loras' eyes danced between the king and his prince and he stepped forward, “Lord Renly and I... our friendship pre-existed the marriage deal, but we feared your majesty wouldn't have changed his mind, if we didn't exhibit perfect proof of our matching. - he whispered – As his mind was... set, and once is set...”

“I'm not stubborn! - Robert defended himself poorly – I am quite... flexible. - he frowned – Anyhow, Ned and I already established Renly will marry Robb. You can keep your... friendship by the side, as we all married men do. You're two men, it should even save you some of the dramatic bits.”

“...and Edric will inherit as you die.”, Renly mimicked him.

Robert frowned, unsure if feeling amused or offended.

“Or him or Tommen or one of Ned's many grandchildren to come, either way, the houses will unite whether you throw a tantrum or not.”

Ned moved closer and put his hand on Robert's shoulder, comforting.

“Your majesty, if you allow me.”

“I do not.”, he snapped.

“... Robert.”

“Fair. - he conceded – Speak.”

Eddard looked at Renly and Loras, “Let's beforehand find my son and ask what his take on this is, maybe he has gotten too offended, but in case, I promise, I have five children of true birth, we will find a match you like. What of your Tommen and my Arya? Or Bran and little Shireen?”

Robert seemed tempted.

His heart loved things working out smoothly or with a simple solution way more than having to rearrange broken pieces meticulously, and Ned's calm voice always had a way of soothing him.

“Fair, but we need before to find your boy. - the king looked at Loras and Renly – And you two, even if I grant you permission, this doesn't mean you won, it was my concession.”

“Of course, my king.”, Renly replied with a catlike smile.

“Now... Robb... where would he be?”

“As I said, brother, I have no idea.”

“Sir. - Brienne moved closer to them, still holding the horses – I have an idea whom he could be _with_.”

Ned Stark sighed. So did he.

“Is Theon Greyjoy also missing?”

“I'm afraid so, sir. - she let out a weak cough – Of course, I'd never suggest lord Stark following him unwillingly. They did seem to enjoy each other's company over the days, I am quite confident they took a small hunting trip together, nothing serious.”

“That I could believe, but Robb not warning ...”

“He's a child, after all. - Loras commented, dry – I am not sure how you all expected him to behave differently.”

Robert told them off, “Regardless. - he blurted, tired of discussing – We'll organize a search team.”

“We did already.”, Renly tried to defend himself, but he wasn’t listened to nor heard.

As often.

 

*

 

Robb's caressed Theon's back slowly and tenderly, keeping him in his embrace. Theon's head rested on Robb's chest, hearing his heartbeat, his black hair would fall on there and tickled the pale skin under the auburn fur.

“It’s days we are here... - Theon whispered – They may cut off my head if I lie about what happened. - then he joked, sour – Or something else, if I admit I laid with the lord's groom.”

Robb shrugged, “I won't allow it.”, he said, confidently.

“And how?”

“I won't marry Renly. - he smiled and kissed Theon's nose – I'll marry you.”

Theon laughed and slid away, “Oh, my hero, my dragon knight, my Florian! - he laughed again, louder, sharper – An Ironborn? Marrying a man? A Stark? And one promised to a Baratheon? - he sucked his lips – No, that does not sound like a very reliable possibility.”

“But we're soulmates. - Robb clamed, proud – That must count.”

“To us, it counts as much as a chain to unhappiness. - he whispered – But to others?”

Theon allowed himself to stop smiling, and sighed.

Robb looked at him, heartbroken and this time, due to it, instead of weaker, stronger.

“I won't marry Renly. The Baratheons, the Ironborn, even my own family in case will have to accept and see you. - he smiled, all bright, bluest Theon ever saw him – As I did, once I saw you, I couldn't take my mind off you for an instant.”

Theon scoffed.

He didn't have the heart to tell Robb he had been the only one like that.

But he mostly didn't have the cruelty to.

Robb was dressing quickly, as quickly as he would undress in the past days, throwing breeches and tunics away, grabbing Theon and pinning him to the wall, as voracious as a wolf and as needy as a green boy.

Theon allowed himself to believe that much: that Robb loved him, and that perhaps, even if everything had to go bad, he would have still had that taste of spring and love, in his rotten winters.

 

*

 

Robert told them off, “Regardless. - he blurted, tired of discussing – We'll organize a search team.”

“It won't be necessary, my king.”

As they turned, they saw Robb and Theon, on one horse, the Stark boy holding the reins and the Greyjoy looking suspicious, if not scared. Renly remembered Theon being like that when he arrived from Pyke, meek and shy, sure he'd lose his head.

Eddard moved to his son quickly. He didn't raise his voice but he sounded authoritative and disappointed all the same.

“Does it seem to you adequate to disappear like this? We all were sure you'd be in some kind of danger.”

“I'm sorry, father. - he mumbled, his cheeks stained in pink, showing his age to Theon for the first time in days – I should have behaved differently.”

Ned Stark shook his head, but didn't protest.

And Robb turned to the king, “Your majesty, we ran away together.”

Robert scoffed and coughed, almost choking on his own strangled voice.

“You what?”

“Our marks match. - Robb said, trying to make it sound more reasonable than it could, his wide, raw blue eyes betraying a certain awareness of his own inconsiderate and mindless foolhardiness – I know it may seem venturous or rash to my lord father, my king. - his voice turned soft, despite him trying to sound as big and adult as possible – But so I know you can understand.”

“I do not appreciate your arrogance on what I should or shouldn't understand.”

Robb swallowed, but proceeded, “You couldn't let my aunt go not because of your betrothal but because of your marks. - at that point he knew he had both his father and King Robert's attention – Your brother and I are not you and my aunt, we'd make a lousy match, we can't even agree on who should put the cape on who. - he let out a low chuckle and glanced at Loras – And he shares his marks with sir Loras. We'd be unhappy in four.”

Ned lowered his head, mortified and confused.

Robert just looked at the young man he saw in front of him, bearing his name, his wild incautiousness and, perhaps, also a bit of his romanticism. 

“I'm sure you and my father will find another match, one perfect and sweet and that will make our houses stronger. - Robb continued, proud but his hands trembling, but only for Theon to see – I just beg you, my king, let that match not be us.”

The king lowered his look, nodding profoundly and biting the inside of his cheek. He turned to Renly.

“You share your marks with the Tyrell boy.”

“I do.”

then to Ned.

“And you promise me, we will, indeed, unite our houses.”

Eddard's solemn face was ever so slightly painted by a thin, small, brushed smile. “I couldn't wish for anything more, my king.”

Robert then gulped down and glanced at the heart tree's leaves he could see in the end of the yard.

_And you, Lyanna?_

“So be it. - he said, then, quickly, as if he was afraid his voice would betray his thoughts otherwise – It seems, my dear Ned, that we will have to make a different deal about who will inherit Winterfell.”

Renly looked at Loras, his demeanour was composed and impassibly cheerful as always, but his eyes lucid.

“Does this mean, we could...?”

Robert scoffed and hit his brother's back with a loud slap, “Yes, yes. But we shall also have some pretty girl at this ceremony, not only knights, shall we?”

Loras held Renly's hand and squeezed it. His heart pounding so loud in his chest he barely registered King Robert Baratheon hugging him so tight he almost suffocated.

“Wait. - Ned seemed to realize, and he turned to his son and Theon behind him – Where will you go? Nor Winterfell nor Pyke will accept this.”

Theon's hands slid forward, embracing Robb's waist slowly.

Robb could feel Theon's heartstring straining in happiness against his back.

“We will make them.”

And for a moment Ned realized his Cat did well in naming their son after a king.

 

 


End file.
